


fall line

by unhappyrefrain



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Bad Future, Established Relationship, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 09:36:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unhappyrefrain/pseuds/unhappyrefrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inigo screws up his dance; Gerome follows. Inigo learns to be quiet; Gerome learns to speak. They take off their masks; then, they heal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fall line

 

It starts when Inigo misses a step; he's so focused on long lateral movement in this piece that he forgets that one silly transitional section that always felt out of place, though he knows not to change it (because this was his mother's dance, this was the last thing she left him, and he has no right to be angry at a step that only Olivia could pull off) and then he trips, and wobbles, and less-than-gracefully tumbles into the dirt.

"Augh, damn it," he groans, a long, quavering sigh, and he feels two perfectly formed tears shiver in the corners of his eyes. Nope, not crying, not here, he reminds himself, pressing his index fingers to his eyelids. Not here, even though there's no one to smile for, it's half past midnight and he's rustling around in a clearing outside their temporary camp. Still, he's been practicing vigilantly, almost obsessively, the delicate art of un-crying and re-smiling, trying to make sure that the last flowers of hope in everyone's hearts don't wither. It can't be helped, he thinks, he's been such a crybaby from day one. But for the sake of his friends, and his parents, and the unsteady, near-doomed future, he has to smile.

Inigo sits on the ground for a few more minutes, mapping out movements in his head. How to delicately wring the transition out, from long graceful sweeps to almost jittery steps. How, he sighs, _how_ did Mother even make that work? It's so ungraceful, but he knows better than to dismiss it as a choreography error; she was much more talented than him, and in the current state of the world he barely has time to catch up to her.

(Not like he's going to live long enough to get there, anyway.)

And then, with that one thought, the tears he's been holding back just _break_. He lurches over, wrenching his hands together, and then sobs, his whole body shaking with it. The cry is just loud enough to echo, since the clearing is optimal for acoustics, and he jerks back, biting his tongue hard enough to feel it bleed. If someone heard, he's done. Stupid stupid stupid Inigo. His facade is up, everyone will know, and the worst part-- he thinks it, and knows he's probably jinxed it just by picturing-- if _he_ came out at that moment, gods, it would probably be over--

A throaty grumbling echoes from the tents, something not human-- something characteristically Minerva.

Damn it. Damn it to hell.

Inigo scurries into a nearby thicket. His heart is pounding, and he feels weak. Both knees are scraped up, and he presses trembling fingers against the small wounds before he hears footsteps. Minerva, from the tents, groans again.

"Who's there? Show yourself!"

Gerome's voice rasps in the darkness. Inigo wants to curl up further and hide.

"Show yourself, or I will attack!"

The bottom of his stomach disappears, and he peeks out timidly from behind the bush. He knows Gerome can see him, or at least recognize him, and he lets out a sigh.

"It's just me…"

Gerome comes a little closer, and his face lightens, in the subtle way that Inigo recognizes. "Ah," he says, unfazed. "You look hurt."

"Yeah, well, I tripped, and then I got lonely…" Inigo rolls his eyes, and as usual, dismisses his sadness with a shrug. "It's not a big deal."

"Don't lie to me. I can see it on your face." Gerome nearly _huffs_ this, and it almost sounds impatient. Emotions are hard for Gerome, when they come easily to Inigo-- perhaps _too_ easily. Inigo's learned to read the small traces of expression in his speech, or the small curves of his smile or frown, even with his mask-- Gerome keeps his mask on when he sleeps. Gerome keeps his mask on when they kiss. Gerome doesn't let him see the warmth creeping up his cheeks when they find comfort, the only small comfort they can, in each other.

It's a relationship and Inigo knows they won't live long enough to see the result, but it seems fine sometimes, because Inigo doubts they'll survive to a point where they let go.

"Don't make that face, dummy," Inigo sniffs, but Gerome touches his temples in a sort of irritated meditation. Inigo can tell he can't decide whether to reach out or walk away. It's his constant struggle.

"What face?"

"The one you're making."

Silence. There are no night sparrows, no rustling of wolves or rabbits. The Risen frighten every living thing into submission-- except for the children. They're used to quiet nights. Noire, Brady, Yarne and Morgan all need some ambient noise in the background when they sleep, but Gerome doesn't sleep often anyway, and Inigo is nearly narcoleptic in his napping habits-- but nights with absolutely no sound are almost disturbing to anyone.

Then they both sigh, and Gerome's foot shifts awkwardly under his other leg, the way he's kneeling, almost like he's fidgeting to get up.

"No, don't--"

"Don't what?"

"I saw that, you want to leave. Don't," Inigo stammers.

Gerome pauses, a slight hesitancy inscribed in what Inigo can see of his face. And then he says, "Do you think I would just leave you here?"

The sudden candor catches Inigo off guard. Gerome is rarely affectionate.

"I… think I'm used to being left behind in dark places, so…" Inigo nervously giggles, a self-deprecating grimace-smile warping his features. Gerome swallows, heavily, and Inigo can hear it.

"I think," he says, "you need to clean up the scrapes on your knees. Before… they get infected."

Inigo cracks a dorky, lopsided smile, and then kisses him.

"I, ah," Gerome blinks, as they separate, half-stunned even after all this time. "I never… know."

"Know what?"

"What to say."

"Then don't."

"Don't… say?"

"Exactly." Inigo nods, almost definitively. "Unless… you don't want to kiss?"

"I… no, that's not. I do want to kiss. You, I mean."

"Who else would you want to?"

...

"No one," Gerome states, grasping at both Inigo's hands. "No one ever."

"Are you lonely sometimes?"

"All the time."

...

"Do you cry?"

"Not at all."

...

"I cry a lot."

"I know," Gerome says, before leaning up and gently-- gently-- kissing the tears from Inigo's face. "You don't have to state the obvious."

"I am a master of obvious," Inigo stutters.

"That you are."

…

"Remember when we were kids and I fell in the lake?"

"Stop-- talking-- Inigo--"

"When you made a mask out of a leaf--"

" _Inigo_ \--"

"That one time Cynthia got kicked in the face by the pegasus--"

"--that wasn't a pegasus, that was Sully's horse, shut up shut up _shut up_ \--"

Gerome's kisses grow more frantic.

"--and Noire fainted seeing all the blood--"

Inigo digs his fingers into Gerome's hair, and when Gerome moves forward the slightest bit it puts pressure on him in a way that's oddly satisfying, and he sighs.

"--when Brady started playing violin and got the scar-- on his face-- ah--"

And then Gerome reaches up, and he

 

he takes

he _takes off the mask_

 

and Inigo smiles, so broadly, that he stops crying and then it just spirals from there, Gerome's kissing down his neck and he can't even move, they struggle to unbutton their shirts, Inigo's legs jerk reflexively and he stops talking right about the moment that Gerome touches him and then he forgets he's ever been crying, he leans forward, legs splayed out awkwardly, and then Gerome's touching him _more_ and he doubles over and starts sucking angry bruises into Gerome's neck, he buries his face in his chest and _keens_ , and Gerome holds him like he's so infinitely precious, and Inigo tilts his head backwards, and Gerome has since gotten Inigo's back against a tree as their legs fit together, ankles around ankles, skin against skin, Gerome moves _up_ \--

Inigo's eyes screw shut and blink open and Gerome looks so real and so different without his mask, it's like the mask has become part of his identity and taking it off is almost like taking off a piece of clothing, something concealing, something protecting him that he no longer needs to use right now, and it's straight and tight in his chest but Gerome increases the friction between them, it's much too close, much too _close_ and Inigo _breathes_ and then _kisses_ and-- _gods_ \--

He comes with a quavering moan, something that was originally supposed to be Gerome's name maybe possibly but the last syllable dropped off into a long space like the area directly below a cliff, a fall line. Gerome makes a small noise in his throat but he just sighs, and Inigo shifts uncomfortably in his clothes.

"I'm… going to need to wash these…"

Gerome makes no reply, but brings Inigo up and close, brushing back his hair.

"For-- for future reference, I think all you need to do, to turn me on, is take off, the mask?"

And then-- there it is, thank Naga and all the divine dragons-- Gerome _smiles_.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> 4.28.14 -- thanks everyone for 60 kudos!!!


End file.
